


like a good neighbor

by Anonymous



Series: starkerotic's fic collection [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, tumblr inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23377720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: From the corner of his eye, Tony sees Bucky lean forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs and clasping his hands together beneath his chin. “He’s taken a shine to you.”There’s something in the man’s voice - dark, low,dangerous- that snaps Tony’s attention back in his direction, the hair on the back of his neck rising. “I’m glad to know him; he’s a good kid.”That sounds neighborly enough, doesn’t it? Neighborly - not at all like I’ve imagined him spread out on my sheets, in my lap, over the island-“He’s averygood boy,” is Bucky’s response, a sly smirk curving his lips. “He loves taking care of others.” Here, he pauses, and his eyes shine with a sort of mischief. “Pleasingthem.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: starkerotic's fic collection [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1384960
Comments: 9
Kudos: 130
Collections: Anonymous





	like a good neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> from [cagestark's tumblr post and pretty-well-funded's additional comment.](https://starkerotic.tumblr.com/post/612621268041302016/tony-moves-to-a-nice-little-house-in-the-suburbs)
> 
> like a good neighbor, tony is there.

The white picket fence house had never been what he’d wanted growing up. No, he’d always dreamt of a home in the sky, the birds and clouds his only companions; instead, he’d fallen in love with Pepper, capable and driven and successful in her own right, never trading on Tony’s wealth, and she’d wanted to be away from the city, away from the world of skyscrapers and police sirens and an increasing crime rate - and so they’d built a little cabin, comfortable and secluded and  _ perfect _ .

(Perfection never lasts.)

As it turned out, being alone with each other, no Rhodey to provide sensible points during spats and no work for Tony to escape to when things got to be  _ too much _ , was their downfall. When Pepper brought up separation, Tony didn’t even argue; when the divorce papers hit the table, he disputed nothing.

He moved back to the city, to his first love, but after the cabin, the silence of the forest that had been so  _ eerie _ at first, Tony couldn’t handle all the  _ sounds _ . Rhodey recommended a neighborhood, a small community cul-de-sac.  _ Not too loud, man, but not completely quiet, either - good people, too. _

(And so, he meets Peter Parker.)

*

The knock is as innocent a knock as can be, the familiar “Shave and a Haircut - Two Bits” pattern drawing a soft snort from Tony before he reaches the door, ready to give his rote response to the newest of the neighborhood welcome wagon, hoping this one hasn’t brought  _ more _ food; his refrigerator is already filled to the brim with casseroles, his kitchen island overflowing with cookies and cakes and brownies.

Shades of whiskey and amber reflect in the fading sunlight, surrounded by lashes so long and dark, Tony simply won’t believe that they’re natural.

“Hi!” His voice is a little higher than most other men’s. “Hi, um. I know it’s a little late,” he apologizes, and Tony finds himself fixating on the light pink that fills his cheeks, his face just as lovely as his eyes and still soft with baby fat - young, probably not over twenty, he deduces and is almost immediately proven correct by the kid himself as he rambles an explanation. “I just- I only got home a couple of hours ago. Mrs. Delmar came over to ask me how my first year of college went and how I liked it, and she mentioned that you moved in a few days ago, so I just wanted to make you something to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

The babbling is…  _ cute _ , Tony decides, as is the hesitant way he offers up the plate in his hands, seran wrap protecting a pile of truly  _ hideous _ cookies, misshapen and filled with questionable lumps.

(Tony will eat every single one.)

“They don’t look appetizing, I know,” the boy says when Tony doesn’t move to take the plate, ducking his head a little in embarrassment, “but I promise they’re good.”

Tony clears his throat, pulls his gaze away from the sweet blush he can still see. “I’m sure they will be.” His fingers brush the kid’s and those honey eyes flash up to his face, a slow drag of his tongue over his lower lip sending desire shooting through Tony’s entire body. “Thank you…” He trails off, eyebrows raising.

“Oh!” his newest neighbor breathes. “Oh, right. I’m Peter,” he introduces himself. “Peter Parker. I live just next door.”

_ Ah. _ “Tony Stark. I’d wondered if anyone lived there,” Tony tells Peter. “I haven’t seen a car there since I moved in.”  _ Way to sound creepy, old man. _

Peter only smiles, bright and open, his hands coming up to clasp together in front of his stomach now that the cookies aren’t between them. Tony almost laughs aloud as he reads the words written on the baby blue shirt:  _ Science is just like cooking. (Just don’t lick the spoon!) _ “My aunt and her new husband went on their honeymoon for the summer.” He ruffles his hair - light brown curls that look soft enough for Tony to run his fingers through without snagging - and shrugs. “It kind of sucks that I won’t see her until it’s almost time for me to go back to school,” he admits, “but Happy makes her - well,  _ happy _ , and she’s not really had a lot of time to do anything but take care of me since I was nine, so I’ll live.”

Tony chuckles (easier than he has since before Pepper had sat him at their dining table and laid out the legal separation documents her lawyer had drawn up for perusal, explaining how she felt they were so distant from each other, despite living together with no one else around, asking him to look them over and amend or add or erase anything he felt he needed to). He’s suddenly made aware that they’ve been standing on his doorstep for a few minutes when he catches the eye of Mr. Delmar, across the street, clearly attempting to lure his cat inside from the porch with treats. Tony shifts a little awkwardly on his feet and takes a half-step back. “Would you like to come in?” he offers, throwing a genuine smile at the kid. “You can help me eat one of the dozen casseroles all the women on the block insisted on giving me.” Maybe he’d get the chance to make the boy blush again.

Looking regretful, Peter shakes his head, though one foot makes an aborted step toward Tony. “I really can’t. I’m sorry,” he apologizes once more. His lower lip is drawn between his teeth; Tony has a flash-fantasy of  _ himself  _ being the one biting it. “My friends are coming over soon for a movie night and pizza.”

“No worries, kid,” Tony assures him and sees a spark of  _ something _ in Peter’s pretty eyes, hidden quickly enough that Tony can’t place it. “Have fun with your friends; I’ll let you know how the cookies are when I see you again.”

“It’ll be soon,” Peter tells him, looking up at him through long lashes, sultry without even trying to be - at least, Tony doesn’t  _ think _ he’s trying. “If you need  _ anything _ , Mr. Stark, feel free to come by.”

Tony is left on his porch, just outside the doorway, watching the sway of slim hips as Peter walks back to his own house, checking the mail and waving almost  _ shyly _ at Tony before he disappears inside, leaving Tony to wonder if he imagined the emphasis Peter placed on  _ anything _ or if it really was an offer of things Tony shouldn’t want to do to a kid almost thirty years his junior.

(This is all Rhodey’s fault.)

*

Tony goes for a run every morning (a habit he’d gotten into at Rhodey and Pepper’s insistence) and every morning, without fail, when he returns, sweat beads rolling down his temples, sliding down his chest and back, Peter is waiting for him, a pitcher of lemonade and an empty glass in hand. His eyes are even more striking in the full light of the sun: honey droplets swimming in smooth whiskey, mahogany and earth and sunbeams shining through autumn leaves.

(The sun rises behind and between their houses, always framing Peter in a halo of light, an angel with sugar water and a smile.)

“You know,” Tony pants, tugging the hem of his shirt up to dab away the sweat on his face, voice muffled as he continues, “you could  _ join _ me rather than just sitting on my porch stoop.” When he drops his shirt, he catches Peter’s eyes darting quickly up from where his middle had just been exposed to his face, pink tinging his cheeks with that lovely blush Tony has dreamt of too many times in the last twelve days; a thrill of pleasure thrums in Tony’s veins.

“But then you wouldn’t get my world-class lemonade, Mr. Stark,” teases Peter as he carefully pours the drink and offers it to Tony, teeth showing with the smile he flashes when Tony takes it.

It’s the too-sugary pre-made mix Tony remembers from his and Rhodey’s days as roommates at MIT, Rhodey rolling his eyes every time Tony complained about it; Tony drank it then and he drinks it now, with only minimal mockery. “Are you gonna build yourself a stand, next? Sell paper cups of the stuff for a nickel each?”

Peter stifles a laugh, Tony’s chest filling with warmth when it brightens his eyes even more. “This is premium-grade stuff. How dare you suggest it’s only worth five cents; a fair offer would be ten.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Parker! My mind for business has clearly been affected by the superior quality.” The sugar is never fully dissolved and it settles on his tongue like mud on his shoes; he has to rinse his mouth and brush his teeth as soon as Peter leaves, plans of catching up with high school friends drawing him from Tony’s stoop.

(Tony never once considers turning it down.)

*

He thinks that his eyes play tricks on him sometimes - when Peter’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips when Tony returns from a run without his shirt on, when his eyes seem to linger on  _ Tony’s _ lips even after he’s finished speaking - because Peter is young and vibrant and beautiful while Tony is over twice his age and not nearly as innocent (he doesn’t think he ever  _ has _ been), but then… The boy invades Tony’s house after his run one morning (okay, so Tony  _ may have _ invited him in, practically begging the kid to finish off the pizza he’d had delivered the night before, but semantics don’t really matter anymore) and Tony has to throw a towel on to run back downstairs for his phone (AC/DC sounds  _ next-level _ in the bathroom, fuck off), and Peter-

His eyes never leave the tuck of the towel at Tony’s hip, his lips parted while his hand stills in midair, the point of a piece of pizza an inch away.

“Sorry, Pete,” Tony grins, snatching his phone from the island and holding it up. “Can’t forego the soothing lullaby of  _ Back In Black _ with my morning shower.”

Peter is silent for a beat too long. “N-no, it’s alright. It’s your house, I mean. I’m fine. It’s fine. You- You’re fine.” His nostrils flare and he draws his feet up where he’s seated on the sofa, wrapping one arm around them, finally pulling his gaze away from Tony and shoving the pizza in his mouth.

Peter is gone when Tony returns from his shower, but he can still feel the weight of the kid’s gaze so close to his cock and, despite the quick-and-dirty orgasm he’d jerked out in his shower, he feels his dick twitch helplessly against his thigh.

(Maybe he  _ isn’t _ so wrong when it comes to Peter, after all.)

*

The next morning brings a sunrise as perfect as ever and weather warmer than a typical summer day in New York City; by the time Tony rounds the circular end of the cul-de-sac, his water bottle is empty and he’s looking forward to Peter’s lemonade waiting for him at his steps.

Peter, however, is nowhere to be seen.

Tony takes a moment (only a moment, not a full minute, he’s not  _ pathetic _ , thanks very much) to lament Peter’s absence, to wonder if perhaps-

Peter’s door opens and out flies the teenager, his curls a little mussed, his shirt wrinkled, and his lips a darker pink than normal, the ever-present pitcher of lemonade and empty glass in his hands. “Sorry, Tony!” he pants softly, a crooked grin slanting his slightly swollen lips, goofy and beautiful. “I got a little, um…”

“Distracted,” comes a new voice, one that Tony hasn’t ever heard before, deeper and with a sexy sort a rasp, and when he looks up-

The man (and that’s what he is - a  _ man _ , not a  _ boy _ or a teen like Peter, standing in front of Tony with an apologetic smile and lemonade) is a fucking  _ tank _ , a broad chest and even  _ broader _ shoulders filling the doorway as he leans against the frame, eyes like heated steel staring  _ fondly _ down at Peter through strands of long brown hair before they meet Tony’s; one of The Tank’s eyebrows slides upward.

“Right, um.” Tony takes the glass offered and frowns as Peter rubs the back of his neck, clearly more than a little flustered, his face a brighter red than Tony has ever seen it. “I got a little distracted, ‘m sorry, I meant to be out here when you got back.”

Tony’s throat is a little tight, his words thicker than they should be. “It’s not a problem, Pete. No worries.” He downs half the glass, not stopping even when the granules of sugar scrape against the back of his throat; it does nothing to help the sudden dryness of his mouth.

“Don’t be rude, doll,” Tank drawls at Peter, who purses his lips at the thick Brooklyn accent and flashes a look over his shoulder. Tony sees a flash of that tempting tongue as he sticks it out at the third man, who only smirks and lifts his chin in challenge.

Finally, Peter admits defeat by way of a single dramatic eye roll and turns back to Tony. “Bucky, this is Tony,” he says primly, “and Tony, this is Bucky.” Peter smiles at Tony, a little shyly. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Tony’s gut churns.

(Fucking Rhodey.)


End file.
